Those were not His Hands
by The Readers Muse
Summary: Its his biggest fear. It wasn't dieing, it wasn't even the Wraith, it was losing him. It was living out the rest of his life without him, and knowing he was alone because he hadn't gathered the courage to change his stars when he had had the chance.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:** I don't not own Stargate Atlantis or any of it's characters. Do you THINK I would be here If I did?! So I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda._

**Warnings:** This is a Mckay and Sheppard slash story (Eventually). Thus, eventually the rating will more then likely change from Teen to Mature. It's ansty, and seems like a death fic at the moment. Believe me people, it is not, so just bare with me here. Blame the rabid plot bunnies. Spoilers are considered fair game up to the end of the Season Three, and while this story doesn't really have a set place in the storyline, just consider it occurring at a time when Elizabeth was still on Atlantis, and Carson either didn't die, or this is his clone. (I usually just repress the thought that he died anyway! Heh!)

*Also I hold myself totally not at fault for any fan death by _sqwee_ in regards to Orange Fleece! :D

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

**Those Were Not His Hands**

_**Chapter One - Don't tell me It's over, it had barely begun**_

Unshed tears blurred his vision, turning Atlantis' elegant metallic walls into a murky jumble, blending the colors together until all he could see was a wandering streak of light-blue instead of the intricate designs that glowed boldly from the walls as he strode past. He didn't stop, he couldn't, speeding up until he was almost running, needing to get away, to get anywhere but away from that gurney, away from that still figure still half-wrapped in the white linen shroud, away from the wet, crumpled faces, the silent streams of tears, away from the smell. _Anywhere. Just away!_

It didn't take long for the voices to catch up with him, but he ripped his ear piece viciously from his ear, ignoring Carson's concerned Scottish brogue, his accent heavy with grief…barely keeping it together. Ignoring Elizabeth's tentative questions, the catch in her voice unmistakably, but he refused to hear her out. Knowing he couldn't bear to hear her soothing, placating tones, knowing he would fall to pieces. _He just needed to get away._

He almost fell into the transporter, stumbling over his own feet as the door swished closed. He hardly even glanced at the console, simply stabbing at the nearest button and willing Atlantis to take him away. _Away_. He was out and moving again before the doors had even fully opened, angrily wiping at a single traitorous tear that had slipped unbidden from his brimming eyes. _'No...Not you Rodney. Not you.'_

His mud and ash-caked boots took him through the seemingly endless corridors, down halls lined with living quarters, with each door exactly the same as the next. Any other day the uniformity of it all would have been comfortingly familiar, but now, _today_, it seemed bleak...impersonal. But even as the thought played out in his mind, stored away in some gloomy and depressed corner of his brain, his steps stuttered, slowing slightly as the lights around him flickered mournfully, shrouding the corridor in a dim blue light for a few moments before returning to normal with a low hum.

For a few moments he wondered if Atlantis knew, if she could somehow sense that one of her most dedicated children had fallen and was in mourning. But the thought only served to worsen his mood as he couldn't help but automatically picture Rodney's expression. His all too expressive eyes would have widened incredulously, his lips curling into his patented half-sneer, hands already flying as he readied himself to launch into another of his infamous tirades about John giving human mannerisms to inanimate technology.

He loved riling the Canadian man up, enjoying the mans tenacious, and spit-fire personality, unable to resist occasionally baiting him just to watch the fire blaze in his eyes, to watch his characteristic hand movements get progressively wilder and more flamboyant as the argument progressed. But now, now that would never happen again. _Never._

_That's _why he had to get away, to escape the sight of those limp hands on the gurney, they were too still. _Too wrong. _It wasn't him. It _couldn't_ be him. Even when one hand had slipped loose from the cloth, sliding off his blackened chest to hang limply in the empty air, he hadn't been able to bring himself to touch it. _He couldn't!_ He only stared, watching as those long fingers swayed, the joints and muscles already stiffening so that his fingers had half curled into his large, dirty palm. He had watched that hand, denial coursing through him, it _just couldn't be McKay. _

He had watched, hypnotized until Beckett had cleared his throat, his cheeks glistening with quiet tears as he had gathered the stray hand in his own, and had gently slipped it back into the shroud just as Teyla and Ronon had run in, their eyes wide with worry and panic, only to crumple in grief, and disbelief as they took in the still figure, his face and chest uncovered unwrapped from the linens as the room slowly filled with the scent of burnt hair and singed flesh.

It had almost been worse to see Telya, their strong unmoveable Telya nearly crumple in her grief, her legs wobbling as she turned into Ronon's chest, shaking with silent sobs as he gathered her up in a one-armed embrace, chin resting on her hair, his face stony as his dark eyes remained fixed on the gurney, like everyone else, he was unable to look away.

He passed too many people, feeling smothered by them even as they walked on the other side of the hall. But he didn't stop, hurrying past them, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste, ignoring their panicked questions, ignoring the shouted exclamation that chased him down in mocking echoes no matter how fast he ran.

He didn't even know where he was going, nor even were he was until Atlantis opened the next door on his left, and without a thought he hurtled through it, willing the door closed behind him. Nearly falling to the wall he felt strangely winded as he leaned against the cool metallic surface, his eyes tightly shut as he struggled to breath against the malevolent ball of grief that tightened in his throat threatening to choke him as he pulled in harsh gasps of air.

And for a few agelessly long moments he could only breathe, concentrating, _'inhale, pause, exhale, and again...Focus Sheppard... Pull yourself together... Focus.'_

It wasn't until an all too familiar scent wafted to his nose that it fully occurred to him just where he was. _'Mckay...'_ He was in Rodney's room. And for the second time in only a few short minutes he had to wonder if it had been here that he had been unconsciously heading from the very beginning, or if somehow Atlantis had sensed what he had needed and had delivered it to him in the only way she knew how. Either way he doubted the answer would truly surprise him.

He breathed in the scent greedily, feeling it calm him, bringing the world back into focus, steadying him. But he didn't lift his eyes from the crook of his arm, he couldn't. _Not yet._ As if somehow he could keep reality away for just a few more minutes and pretend that any moment now he would hear the mans subtle Canadian accent, his voice loud and full of that seemingly endless zest, demanding to know where he was, needing yet another guinea pig to fiddle around with the ancient technology. It had never really occurred to him until now that the man never asked for anyone else, it had always been him. _Always._

Finally he forced himself to look up, wrenching himself upright and ignoring the way his body swayed before he regained his equilibrium.

He almost had to laugh as he took in the chaotic chaos that was Rodney's room. He had come to realize during the past few years, having been regularly surrounded by genius' of virtually every nationality Earth had to offer that it seemed to be a fairly common geek trait to have living quarters that tended to look more like the aftermath of a natural disaster then a room they actually slept in.

Major Lorne had once even commented that Radek's room should be labelled a safety hazard after he had swung by the scientists room one morning to collect the sleepy and somewhat disgruntled Czech for their weekly firearm practise, only to be half-buried in an avalanche of dirty socks, power tools, and various other items geeks tend to hoard when he upset a meticulously balanced pyramid on the scientists desk.

But as he remembered it, he had been laughing too hard to do much about it as his second in command had flopped morosely down at their table in the mess, clearly perturbed and sporting one hell of a black eye, an apologetic but undeniably amused Radek Zelenka at his side, the bruise making Lorne look as though Radek had soundly trounced the him during a sparring session.

But it can be said that while the Major had been the butt of many well-meant jokes that week, a few days later while stopping by to invite Radek to movie night, he had been absolutely floored to find the scientist's room virtually pristine, with not a sock, nor a abandoned power tool in sight, complete with what looked curiously like military corners on the bedspread. The wild-haired man had blushed furiously when he had teasingly commented on the state of the room, as he attempted to quickly shove a pair of BDU's and a tac vest that looked suspiciously too large for his small frame into the nearest closet and out of sight as he leaned across the door frame. _It kinda made one wonder actually..._

And as he knew, all too well in fact, McKay was no exception to this seemingly universal rule of geekdom. As if Radek's room might have been labelled a safety hazard, Rodney's certainly took the cake. After all, there was a very good reason why movie night was more often then not held in his quarters rather then Rodney's, even when it was just the two of them having a beer and playing 'prime-not-prime' until suddenly watching "Bad Boy's II" for the fifteenth time sounded like a good idea.... _Again._

Smiling slightly he let his eyes roam the familiar surroundings. As usual every spare centimetre of shelf and desktop space was crammed with everything from ancient devices, earth electronics, old notebooks, and empty coffee cups. He even spied a teetering tower of the stainless steel mugs stacked nearly eight high, peeking out from behind a half-taken apart laptop and a tangled coil of circuitry wiring.

His bed looked more like a nest then a sleeping space, with a multi-coloured pile of mismatched blankets ranging from the dull, but serviceable military issued covers, his own special 'hypo-allergenic' ones, to the brightly weaved blankets from Telya's people. The covers were all thrown to one side, as if he had simply got up that morning and flung them off him in one smooth motion. The floor was littered with shucked-off clothing that dotted the floor in random multi-hued piles, as if the man had simply shed all his clothes where he stood.

Finally feeling as though he could move again, he pushed himself off the wall, stretching his aching muscles, and as he did so a flash of orange caught his eye. Reflectively he bent to pick it up from where it had obviously fallen, still partially folded from the top of a towering stack of clean laundry. It was Rodney's orange fleece jacket...the very same one he had been wearing that day in Antarctica, the day he had first met Doctor Rodney McKay, the same day his little world had suddenly become so much brighter, and full of wonder again. N_ot to mention a whole lot weirder as well..._

He would remember that day for many reasons, it was the day he still believed heralded the start of his second chance, a chance for a new life, in the stars no less! It was the day when he sat down on that chair and discovered that the universe could open and that solar systems and stars could be born and die, all in his mind for someone that in the grand scheme of things was as small and as insignificant as anyone.

But one of the moments that he was sure would forever be emblazoned in his mind long after old age would rob him of the others, was that of Rodney hovering over him in that florescent orange fleece, his gaze carefully twisted into a stoically unimpressed look, as if John could have even told him the most intimate secrets of the universe from that chair, and the Canadian would have remained completely unfazed.

But for some reason, as the Ancient technology had thrummed through his mind, it's strange and starkly lonely song humming through his blood, he had looked deeper and had found it had been was his eyes that gave him away. Because the man felt so much deeper, so much more, and so very much harder then he would ever show. And in that moment, despite the mans snarky exterior, he had realized how very similar they were, and how much more he had actually wanted to know him...

_And it had scared him then. Despite the fact that he had been nearly flat on his back, feeling as if he was fused to that alien chair, with the 'mind' of that ancient device cradling him, diving into his thoughts as easily as a swimmer slipped into the water. It had been **that** feeling, so veiled and hidden in half truths, confusion, and disbelief that had ended up scaring him the most..._

_**A/N: So, continue? You tell me!**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer:**_**_I don't not own Stargate Atlantis or any of it's characters. Do you THINK I would be here If I did?! So I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda._**

**Warnings:** This is a Mckay and Sheppard slash story (Eventually). Thus, eventually the rating will more then likely change from Teen to Mature. It's angst, and seems like a death fic at the moment. Believe me people, it is not, so just bare with me here. Blame the rabid plot bunnies. Spoilers are considered fair game up to the end of the Season Three, and while this story doesn't really have a set place in the storyline, just consider it occurring at a time when Elizabeth was still on Atlantis, and Carson either didn't die, or this is his clone. (I usually just repress the thought that he died anyway! Heh!)

*Also I hold myself totally not at fault for any fan death by _sqwee_ in regards to Orange Fleece! :D

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

**Those Were Not His Hands**

_**Chapter Two – Orange Fleece**_

The jacket was a shade lighter now, dulled by one too many washes. But just like the man who wore it, it bore its scars and imperfections proudly, sporting a mended tear on the back hem and a few pock-marked holes on the cuffs where the fleece had been singed by welding sparks. Yet despite it all Rodney wore it nearly as often as his expedition jacket, always standing out when he did, one bright neon mark in a sea of military blacks and greens, and the science tans and blues. _'As if the man really needed clothes to stand out!'_ He mused with a fond shake of his head.

Rodney McKay was more a part of Atlantis then any of the natural Ancient gene carriers, sometimes even more then himself. It was more then just a simple machine and man understanding...it was a bond, a connection, and despite all his sarcasm and bluster he knew Rodney felt it too. Just the same way he knew why Atlantis seemed to light the halls just a fraction of a percent brighter for him as he stalked past, nose deep in schematics, or why Atlantis responded just that much faster to his every command. He could almost feel the fondness the city directed towards him whenever Rodney sat in the chair, the same feeling John often felt from her as well.

He sometimes wondered if it was Atlantis' way of showing her love, of caring...

And even now, _especially now, _it killed him that he had never acted on his _own _feelings. Cursing himself for letting years worth of opportunities slip by unheeded, letting his cowardice, and uncertainty rule him until he had buried the longing and the desire for more down so deep beneath friendship, bravo, and comradeship that he had almost tricked himself into believing it wasn't there at all. _Almost._

He had made himself pretend that his heart didn't nearly stutter to a stop whenever the Canadian would grin or even laugh, a sound that had been rare in their first year on Atlantis, but now had become almost common. He made himself forget how it truly felt to be around him, to know the very moment when that metaphorical light bulb would flash on in his brain and how it felt to look up and catch that glint of near child-like excitement that would appear, and being able to share in that feeling with him. He had even pretended that he didn't enjoy it when, out of all things, they would be running for their lives on some far-flung, ass-backward planet, and know that everything was just as it should be when Mckay was racing along at his side, complaining and bitching the entire time.

It wasn't until the garment made a distressed sound that he realized he was fisting it tightly, nearly wringing it in his fists. Forcing himself to relax, he pressed it to his chest, crushing it into his dusty black shirt, heedless of the volcanic ash that still covered his shirt as he wobbled slightly, sinking down on the end of the bed. He slumped right down into the middle of the mess of blankets, the movement sending a burst of the mans distinctive scent tumbling and rushing through the air, the scent searing his nostrils, over powering the scent of burning from his clothes.

Still breathing deeply he forced himself to look around the room, taking it in in all it's messy glory. The desk chair was pulled out, his tan science expedition jacket hung over one side, the Canadian flag still displayed proudly on the right shoulder. On his desk one of his many laptops still complied a program, doing various system checks, and filling the room with a barely discernable hum as it worked. His quarters looked for all the world, as if he had simply stepped out to the mess hall, bound to return at any moment. The thought alone was enough to tighten the coiled vice of grief inside his chest once more, as if his entire body was betraying him as he fought to remain strong.

After a few rough moments, seconds where he could only concentrate on breathing, he realized that at some level that that was _excately_ the problem. _That_ was why after even carrying Rodney's stretcher to the gate, baring his dead-weight through the wormhole and back to Atlantis himself, that his mind just wouldn't accept it. _Wouldn't_. _Couldn't_.

The man was just too present, with little parts of himself spread all over Atlantis. Rodney was just as present in the orange fleece as he was in gateroom, puttering under a console or working five stations at once, mouth going nine thousand miles per minute as he berated everyone and their uncles. He was in the cluttered corners of the labs he had claimed for his own, the side of the couch in the rec room he always dived for, the spot on the floor he sat on when they drank beer in his room. He was present in his empty seat at their table in the mess, even in the lonely chair at the conference table, the seat still pushed out from the table, the only chair from their morning meeting not neatly placed in order with the rest.

He was everywhere on Atlantis, everywhere in their lives, in _his _life. He had always been. And he was haunted by it, haunted by a thousand ghosts of memory that whispered through his mind, a thousand opportunities lost. _Gone forever._

How could he be gone when he was still so strongly here? It was all so wrong. Minutes, maybe even hours trickled past as if time held no meaning, the early afternoon sun fading to the dusk of evening. _As if it wasn't real at all._

He was waiting, sitting there in the middle of Rodney's bed, the mans jacket clutched in his lap, his combat boots making dark volcanic smudges on the floor in front of him, waiting, poised on edge for the moment someone would burst in and shout it was all false. An elaborate joke, a strange alien kidnapping, that the dead man in the morgue was not really Rodney at all..._something. Anything_.

He kept waiting, half-expecting the door to swish open, and Rodney to come turning around the corner, contentedly munching on a power bar, tablet in hand, already computing dozens of system checks and god knows what ever else, a half-snarky, half-amused grin already blossoming on his lips, eager to needle him for being so gullible...so emotionally wrecked. He was also ready for the serious, and slightly concerned look that would undoubtedly appear as he realized how much it had hurt him, his blue eyes widening in understanding. He was ready for how Rodney might tentatively sling a companionably hand over his shoulder as he would try, unsuccessfully to hide the warmth in his eyes. Rodney had never really been able to hide much from him, his eyes were too expressive, his face far too open.

Some people wore their hearts on their sleeves, but Rodney blithely wore his on his face, iit was there, in his eyes for everyone to see if only they cared enough to look. And he loved him for it. _So yes, he kept waiting...But no one saved him, and Rodney didn't come.._

He was startled when the tears came. The first a single drop that coursed briefly down his cheek to fall and dampen the orange jacket on his lap, the fleece slowly soaking up the moisture as he watched. He had thought he had forgotten how to cry. He had thought it had been just one more thing he had lost among the sandy desert dunes in Afghanistan, buried alongside one too many friends and comrades. It figures that it would be Rodney who would be the one to dig it out of him again.

"Damnit Rodney..." He whispered, looking up at the ceiling vainly trying to halt the welling moisture in his eyes, blinking away the liquid blur. "Not you.._not you_."

_**A/N:**_ **I want to thank everyone who had reviewed thus far, I am glad you guys are enjoying the story! Hopefully this chapter will be as much to your liking as the first.**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer:**_**_I don't not own Stargate Atlantis or any of its characters. Do you THINK I would be here if I did?! So I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda._**

**Warnings:** This is a Mckay and Sheppard slash story (Eventually). Thus, eventually the rating will more then likely change from Teen to Mature. It's angst, and seems like a death fic at the moment. Believe me people, it is not, so just bare with me here. Blame the rabid plot bunnies. Spoilers are considered fair game up to the end of the Season Three, and while this story doesn't really have a set place in the storyline, just consider it occurring at a time when Elizabeth was still on Atlantis, and Carson either didn't die, or this is his clone. (I usually just repress the thought that he died anyway! Heh!)

*Also I hold myself totally not at fault for any fan death by _sqwee_ in regards to Orange Fleece! :D

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

**Those Were Not His Hands**

_**Chapter Three – The Moment might have been lost, but the Memory will last forever**_

_**Many hours earlier...**_

In theory it had had all the indicators of a routine mission, or as routine as a first contact mission could possibility be. For all intents and purposes, the mission had been simple: make nice with the natives, and let Rodney play around with the ancient technology until he either collapsed from geek-excitement, or until fate stepped in and turned the tables on them, and before they knew it they would be trying to beat Lorne's team back to the gate. _Unfortunately, experience had come to teach them all that the second option was usually far more likely._

However, this time, it was _supposed _to be simple. The ancient database had provided relatively little on the planet that Rodney soon aptly christened "Planet Hell", describing it as volcanically active, and mentioning it as the site of a small research facility stationed in the mountainous highlands on the planets northern continent. In fact the information regarding PVX451 had been so sparse that it was only after an AIV had surveyed the area around that gate that they learned it was inhabited at all.

However, unlike far too many first contact missions, the inhabitants of "Planet Hell", or "Obasia" as the Obasians cheerfully called it, were for all intents and purposes absolutely harmless. Despite the Wraith visiting their planet every three or four generations they maintained a surprisingly warm and undefeated demeanour, subsisting on the nearby ocean and the crops they had planted on the small bits of arable land in the marshes. Their culture was remarkable diverse for a society that essentially lived in a seasonally rotating settlement pattern, living in vast canvas-like tents supported by complex oval-shaped wooden frames that could be dismantled and reconstructed in less then a day.

He, along with Mckay and Lorne's team had made a smooth first contact, and after spending a few hours in conference with the village council, discussing their purpose and negotiating a trading partnership they were officially welcomed as friends of the Obasian in a brief, but entertaining ceremony that included the use of a special sort of wood smoke that nearly sent him cross-eyed as he found himself continually been forced to keep his eyes in focus during a fascinating performance from a small group of women playing what looked like a strange mix between a flute, a harmonica, and a banjo. The instrument included not only rawhide strings but also two protruding stems on either side where the mouth could be placed, the various holes along the sides meant to change the tone of the instrument with the hand not strumming the instrument as the musician played.

After a simple, but undeniably delicious meal everyone got down to business, Parrish was soon happily hip deep in the bogs and marshes with a few of the settlements elders, the geologists evidently transported to their happy place as they explored the volcanic climate, taking enough samples to sink a Puddle jumper, while Mckay eagerly set about badgering Otesterian, the Obasian's leader as to the whereabouts of the Ancient research station.

Interestingly, despite Rodney's rather vocal, and numerous complaints about the arid environment, the natives immediately to a strong liking to the snarky Canadian. Chuckling and grinning to each other as he loudly denounced the pressing heat, and the thick, ash-laden air. And while they treated everyone in the party with equal friendship and courtesy, it was apparently that at that very least, he intrigued them. However the man was far too caught up in environmental semantics, and scanning for readings on the ancient station to fully notice or even care.

Otesterian and a number of the villagers personally escorted them there, unwilling to let Mckay, Lorne, and himself to traverse the dangerous mountain terrain alone, because, as fate would have it, the research station was located in the center of a dangerous geyser field. However the geysers were not the simple hot water affairs as in Yosemite Park, they actually emitted a blast of some sort of gaseous compound that burst into a plume of orange and blue hued flame when it met the open air. According to Ostesterian and his people these gas geysers were remarkably unpredictable, often forming new geyser plumes without warning, making the very ground underneath ones feet in this area to be highly dangerous.

Despite the seriousness of these warnings, McKay scampered across the field like a man half his age, his enthusiasm and scientific zest nearly unstoppable once the building came into view. The station was small; strangely free of the trademark Atlantian spirals that seemed to be the architectural style of choice with the Atlantians. Instead, it formed a solid dome shape, standing out magnificently in a stunning blue-tinged metallic color, rising out of the charred grey and black surroundings like a sapphire jewel.

To the Obasian people, the research station, a place that in their original language translated into 'The Resting Place of the Gods', was a spot that was not necessarily sacred, but one that deserved their respect and attention. While dormant, it remained an important teaching tool for their youth, teaching them not only of the evidence of their faith, but also that the mysteries of their own world were as diverse, and as boundless as the worlds that could be reached through the ancestral ring.

Thus the Obasian people kept the station well maintained, disturbing not a single piece of equipment, but ensuring the building remained spotless in its perfection lest one of the Ancients return. However it was clear that despite their vow to leave the property of the station undisturbed, their curiosity and eagerness to learn was clearly evident as long ago they had discovered a hidden access hatch on the dome's roof where they could enter and exit through the hatch without the need for the Ancient gene.

Osterterian himself spoke of often visiting the site in his early adulthood, soon after being appointed as the leader of his people, and despite being a renown warrior, he himself had been deeply startled when his touch had activated a table of glowing blue stones in the main chamber, causing what he deemed as daylight to appear within the dome, clearly having hit a console of some kind and bathing the station in light for the first time in over a thousand years.

Once inside and Rodney had been suitably reigned in enough to listen, Otesterian regaled them with the history of the ancient building. It appeared that the station had been abandoned by the ancients far before the war with the Wraith, with only a few brief visits by them throughout the decades leading up to the time of the interstellar war, but each time had been engrained in the histories of the Obasian, with legends that survived to this day of twin blue and white plumes of light that emerged from the very top of the dome, energy that had cracked and rolled in the air like thunder, rising in two separate towering plumes before intertwining together and piercing deep into the geyser field. Slicing into the ground as easily a spoon swirled through cream, causing the very earth to trembling with its might.

However, the domes most dominate, and intriguing feature was the large platform chair similar to the one in Antartica. It was mounted on a steep platform and surrounded by various instruments that even McKay was at a loss to explain. All the records relating to the station, and indeed even the chair itself has been entirely wiped from the stations records, with the only data that remained on the crystals recording the last date in which the Ancients had visited, activating the station.

However despite this McKay was adamant that chair was vastly different from the chairs on Antartica and Atlantis, and they spent hours at the station as McKay puttered around with the equipment, becoming more indignant and incensed as the hours wore past and the chair did nothing more then power on and lay down flat, almost like a lazy-boy back home.

However, despite the similarities, he had to agree with Rodney, this chair _had_ been different from the others, he couldn't explain it, but it had even _felt_ different. While it had lit up for him, and laid back in a supine position like with McKay, it did nothing else, and unlike with the others chairs, this one had closed itself off from his mind after a quick, and nearly unnoticeable scan. It was almost as if the chair was _ignoring him. _It even looked different, the back panels protruded, and the chair itself was positioned directly below a hubbed portion of the ceiling. However the device remained dark and lifeless, just like the devices presence in his mind. _Lifeless. Lifeless like those still hands._

Eventually he had had to nearly physically unlatch McKay from the consoles as dusk approached, promising the man six ways till Sunday that the next morning they would return, with better equipment and Zelenka in tow. Knowing better then to argue when Rodney began to list off all the equipment and personnel he would need, wishing as he steadily lugged the scientist out of the dome and into the open air that Ronon and Telya had come along as well, rather then helping the Astothesians on the mainland with the harvest. Ronon could have simply slung the Canadian over his shoulder hours ago.

Their party was halfway across the geyser field when it happened. Rodney had his tablet before him, having just looked up and flashed him that trademark grin that nearly split his face in two, motioning him over to show him the program he had just created to detect the formation of the gas geysers. And soon he was quickly immersed in a soothing stream of Rodney's techno-babble, listening to him wonder out loud if such a program could be used to construct some sort of indicator for the Obasian to make traversing the fields less hazardous. Somehow skirting around a flaring geyser hole, he didn't miss a beat of the conversation despite his eyes being glued to the padd, fingers flying as the template gave an irritated bleating noise, capturing his attention once more.

It was that last image, the look of dawning horror that had flashed in those brilliantly blue eyes that truly broke him. It was the look of a man who had made the most horrifying realization a moment too late. And in that split second it took for him to notice, not even having the time to be fully alarmed at the expression blossoming on his face, he watched those brilliant blue eyes change, turning hardened and determined just before the computer slipped from his fingers and he lunged at him, tossing him out of the way in a tackle worthy of a linebacker as a fountain of flame erupted around them, Rodney's strangled scream abruptly cut off as his own world slowly turned blissfully dark. Shrouding him as reality burned and twisted all around him, the sun going out as Rodney's comforting weigh fell on the backs of his legs. He remembering calling out for him and wondering at the silence before the darkness took him again.

Remembering the moment was enough. He lost it. Bile rose high and choking in his throat and he only just made it to the bathroom in time before he emptied his guts into Rodney's toilet, retching until he couldn't retch anymore as the smell of burning and the phantom crackling of roaring flames echoed all around him. The moment played out in his minds eyes again and again, watching those wide, horror-struck eyes as they flickered from the computer screen to him. _To him._ And even though he had nothing else to give, his body shook and jerked on the cool tiles as he dry-heaved over the toilet bowl, sweat and tears dripping unchallenged down his cheeks. _Rodney._

_Rodney...God not you. Anyone..just not you._ Rodney had known, he has seen it in his eyes, seen it just a second too late, just as Rodney had. But Rodney had known enough to make a decision. Without a thought, his best friend...his.._everything, _had traded his own life for his with not so much as a batted eye. _He hadn't thought twice._ He had simply thrown himself at him, knocking him out of the way and taking the brunt of the erupting geyser full on. _Taking his bullet for him._ He retched again, biting his lip so hard that a drop of crimson dropped into the toilet bowl, chasing a ropey string of salvia down the basin as his guts came up empty once again.

He had only just sunk back down on the bed, wiping his mouth on his filthy sleeve when a sound outside the door shook him from his thoughts. Angrily he wiped away the wetness on his cheeks, setting his jaw in such a firm line that he felt the ache reverberate through his teeth, grating them together till it hurt.

It was a pain and discomfort he welcomed; it gave him something else to focus on. It was almost enough to banish the image of those startled, but determined blue eyes from his mind. Almost enough to make him forget the snarky comments his joking had got him as they cautiously tip-toed across the gaseous geyser field, mere minutes before it happened. _Almost._

Standing self-consciously he took a step towards the door before he stopped, still clenching the orange fleece in his hand, not noticing as the sleeves trailed along the floor. Even if there was someone at the door, what would he say? Breathing out in a long rush he ran a hand through his filthy hair, the motion causing dust and dirt to rain down on his shoulders. _Dirty rain._ He was a mess.

He needed a good shower, a shave, and to probably burn everything he was wearing, the sickly sweet smell of burnt flesh had seemed to have sunk into his every pour. He waited for a few long moments, listening to the sound of clothing rustling just outside the door, a few soft, unintelligible words were muttered, but no one chimed for entrance. He remained standing in the middle of the room long after the sounds outside faded away and the halls were silent again. _Rodney's room shouldn't ever be silent.. But he couldn't bring himself to make a sound._

The nearest clock read that it had been over four hours since he and Lorne's team had come through the gate, four hours since they had emerged from the worm hole and he had watched Carson and Elizabeth's faces fall, an absolute dead hush falling over the gate room as people stopped in their tracks, conversations halting in mid-word as their eyes took in the white-shrouded form on the stretcher. Rodney would have been amused.

However, it might as well have been four years, because if anything, one thing remained the same, he needed to pull himself together. He was the military commander of Atlantis, and he needed to start acting like it. And he was pretty sure Rodney would be telling him the same thing right about now. His team needed him. Atlantis needed him.

Squaring his shoulders, he shook himself, forcing himself to concentrate as he readjusted his uniform, about to radio Elizabeth when he remembered he had tossed his radio soon after fleeing the infirmary.

'_Shower, shave, Elizabeth.'_ His brain reminded him sternly as his feet moved towards the door, mind insisting he move, _do something._ But his expression went grim when he realized he was still holding the fleece in his hand. For a moment, he could only stare at it, the orange fabric caressing his palms as he finally loosened his hold. _Giving up his last life preserver._ And with more care then he had ever remembered using, he carefully folded the jacket in his hands, smoothing it out till it was free of wrinkles, putting it on the top of the pile of laundry on the dresser before making himself turn away as he keyed the door open.

He nearly lost it again when he opened the door. Three small pillar candles had been carefully set in front of the door in a graceful triangle, their flames flickering in the recycled air. It almost sent him right back into the room again. It was too much, seeing those small Asothesian made candles, and knowing that whoever left them, whether Telya, someone from earth, or even one of the Asothesians had left them there for Rodney. _For Mckay._

He made himself walk away, ignoring the strange muted nature of the corridors, as if everyone was speaking softly, moving lightly, afraid to break the silence. He didn't meet anyone until he reached the closest transporter, and the sudden appearance of people nearly startled him after all the silence. _All the stillness._

He came around the corner just as the transporter opened and two people emerged. He came to a stop when he realized who it was, shocked in spite of himself as he watched Kavanaugh help Simpson out of the transporter, his head ducked close to hers as he spoke to her softly, a comforting arm wrapped around her small waist.

Neither scientist noticed him, as Kavanaugh had eyes only for the blond woman at his side. His arm stayed around her as tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks, trying unsuccessfully to hold back her grief. He hushed her gently as they slowed to a gradual stop at the entrance to the next corridor.

The tall man looked lost for moment, gazing down at the woman at his side with an expression he had never dreamed that the difficult scientist would, or even _could_ wear. So he stayed silent, unable to look away as he watched them. Watching as Kavanaugh straightened, digging into his pockets he pulled out a crumpled blue handkerchief and tentatively offered it to her, leaning down to kiss her forehead and pull her in close when she ignored it and threw her arms around him, hiding her face in his chest.

Their eyes finally met over her head as the scientist looked up, his sharp blue eyes widening slightly, obviously taken off guard. However, to his credit he did not pull away, or show even the slightest bit of discomfort. Instead, for the first time since he had stepped foot on Atlantis, Peter Kavanaugh surprised him. Not a word left his lips, instead, he inclined his head respectfully, sympathetically, and out of all the people on Atlantis, his expression told him everything he needed to see.

That Rodney _was_ dead and that he was _not_ coming back. His face told him that he _would_ be missed, even by those that didn't like him, nor barely respected him. That Rodney _had_ been loved and valued. That Atlantis and her people _had _lost not only a great asset, but a great man. And that the days ahead _would_ be hard, victory would no longer be so smooth, nor would the station run so flawlessly. _But_ Kavanaugh's gaze also told him that the world _still_ turned, and that people _still_ lived, _still_ loved, and _still _grieved. And that _that_ was the way of things, the nature of life and death, of _living_.

And as he passed them by, the image of those lonely candles, flickering and spitting in the muted ocean breeze played out in his minds eye, set outside a door that he would soon return to, dressed in his dress uniform and spit polished boots, carrying packing crates and cartons. And he returned Kavanaugh's gesture, nodding to him as he passed, only hoping his eyes wouldn't show as much as the other man had chosen to show him. For if the eyes were the windows into the soul, well… he would be afraid to look into his own...

_**A/N: **_**Once again, I would like to thank all my reviewers for their support. Unfortunately all those who remain anonymous I cannot thank you personally, so here is my thank you to you! Your comments and advice keep me writing! **


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer: I don't not own Stargate Atlantis or any of it's characters. Do you THINK I would be here If I did?! So I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.**_

**Warnings:** This is a Mckay and Sheppard slash story (Eventually). Thus, eventually the rating will more then likely change from Teen to Mature. It's angst, and seems like a death fic at the moment. Believe me people, it is not, so just bare with me here. Blame the rabid plot bunnies. Spoilers are considered fair game up to the end of the Season Three, and while this story doesn't really have a set place in the storyline, just consider it occurring at a time when Elizabeth was still on Atlantis, and Carson either didn't die, or this is his clone. (I usually just repress the thought that he died anyway! Heh!)

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

**Those Were Not His Hands**

_**Chapter Four – "Don't tell me if I'm dieing, cause I don't wanna know..."**_

He passed only a few people on his way back to his quarters, yet he was unable to stop the stony, blank look from passing over his features as each one passed, barely noticing that while they averted their eyes quickly and hurried away, their eyes were still full of questions. _How? Why? ... Why? _

He himself was only just beginning to work it out, inwardly cursing himself as his mind forced the images to the surface once again. Forcing him to confront the events of a few hours previous, memories he knew he wasn't ready to face. _Damn._

He passed Lorne and Zelenka last, coming around the final corner leading to his quarters to find both men standing outside the Radek's door, talking quietly as he approached, bent together so that their foreheads were nearly touching. The sight nearly sent him careening into the corridors next arching corner, the image of the two of them together bringing him back to a similar moment in the gate room when they had emerged from the wormhole.

There had been a lot of people crowded into the gateroom, many more then he had ever remembered seeing in one place since they had arrived on Atlantis, years previous. And it hadn't just been personnel from the sciences; it had been people from all sections. It didn't matter if they had been on duty or off duty; the stairs and the corners had been crowded with them, everyone from the Marines, the Air force, to even the kitchen staff. Rodney had never fully realized just how many people's lives he had touched throughout the years. Elizabeth and Carson had been there of course, easily the two most visible presences in the room as they had rematerialized, standing slightly off to the side to make room for the stretcher and their party.

He was sure that almost no one save himself and Lorne had noticed when the wiry haired man had skidded into the room mere seconds after the wormhole dissipated. When everyone froze, it had been him, out of them all, even before Carson that had quietly come forward. His eyes had visibly glistened with unshed tears, but he let not a single tear fall as he did what none of them could. What _he_ could not do, and had unwrapped the shroud, only stopping when he had unwound the cloth down to Rodney's broad shoulders.

And before he had stepped back, letting Carson and the medics through, he had placed his hand on the Canadian's pale shoulder and had said a few words in Czech, his hand resting on Rodney's skin like it belonged there. Finally stepping back as Lorne's moved forward, his hand coming to rest comfortingly on Zelenka's shoulder as they listened to Carson's wavering voice as he sent his orderlies back to sick bay, his stethoscope crumpled in his tight fist as he reached down to gently close Rodney's sightless blue eyes. He tried not to hate them both for having the courage to do what he could not. Radek at least had been able to say his goodbyes.

He hadn't figured it was possible but the little Czech somehow looked worse then in the gate room. While his eyes had lost that dead, disbelieving look, it was clear that he had definitely seen better days. Radek had taken the death of his friend, and boss as hard as he had. His hair looked more wild then usual, which was saying something itself, standing out from his head like a light brown halo. His eyes remained red and blood shot, and his characteristically expressive face had turned grim. Lorne had a comforting hand on his shoulder again, one which he did not immediately remove when he noticed that the hall was no longer empty.

As he neared them the Major turned, nodding respectfully, his face carefully neutral as he made to speak. "Sir." He greeted. "Doctor Weir asked me to tell you that she wants to speak with you right away." He relayed, his lips twisting a bit as he finished. He had only nodded, unsurprised at the news and biding them both goodnight as he past, the expression on Zelenka's tired, broken face spurring forth to many unwanted memories of earlier that day...

_**(Flashback)**_

He remembered little after the flames and the screams. He regained consciousness nearly an hour after the blast, coming back to reality with a painful lurch as a dozen stinging wounds seared across his skin, products of skidding across the rocky ground, a throbbing headache blossoming at his temple where he had hit his head on landing. As the world spun into focus he slapped Lorne's gentle hands away as the man readjusted the bandage wrapped around his head, the cotton already damp and crusted with his blood.

_**Do you dream, that the world will know your name?**_

The world returned in a rush as his senses seemed to switch on all at once. The bright blue lights of the ancient station pierced his tender eyes, the smell of scorched hair and clothing mixed with the unmistakable scent of burnt skin, so overpowering that he could taste it, sickly and gritty on his tongue and between his teeth. Lorne hovered over him, his lips moving, forming words.. sentences, but he couldn't hear him, his ears still reverberating with the percussive explosion, beating in time with his heart. _Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump._

_**So tell me your name**_

The world finally swirled to a stop, and while his ears still heard nothing, he felt his lips form the words. _Mckay. "_Mckay... Mckay!?" He didn't know if he had screamed it or whispered it, but regardless Lorne held him by his shoulders, forcing his face towards him as a penlight seared his retinas before he had even registered the movement. Panic rose in his breast like bile, where was he? He should have been here. He was always there, always right beside him, his mouth always talking, his hands always moving. But there was nothing.

_**Do you care, about all the little things or anything at all? **_

He twisted in Lorne's arms, ignoring the pain that followed the movement, his eyes desperate now. _Where?_ One of the Obsasan blocked his view, rucking up the pant leg of his BDU's and smearing something cool and soothing to his calf, a place that before the coolness of the salve he hadn't realized was searing with pain and heat. He twisted again, trying to see over the woman, trying to find Rodney. _Why would he not answer? Why? He always did! Always!_

_**I wanna feel, all the chemicals inside I wanna feel... **_

He turned once more, eyes scanning the room, doing a circuit and then swinging back, again and again, until he fully realized what he was looking at. _No. _Laid out, supine on the ancient chair was Rodney. But it wasn't the Rodney he had gone through the gate with. No, this one was charred and still.

In large patches his BDU's had been burnt away entirely, leaving angry red and charcoal patches where pale, freckled skin had once been. One side of his expressive face had been blackened and scorched by the plume while the other side remained untouched except for a few streaks of grey ash, the cinders so thick in his dirty brown hair that it had turned it a premature grey. The Canadian flag and the designation patches that had once been sewn onto his uniformed shoulder had been lost entirely. _Burned away and gone._

_**I wanna sunburn, just to know that I'm alive... **_

He laid there, held up by the Major's strength, tipped back in his arms like one would hold a small child, watching as Otesterian and one of his men carefully slipped off the charred husks of Rodney's combat boots, removing the scraps of clothing from his legs as they reverently began to wrap him in a long roll of stark white cloth. The white color so pure and untainted that it stood out boldly in contrast with the irritated reds, and the charred blackness of Rodney's skin. _A shroud._ _Why were they wrapping him in a shroud?...No..No! It can't be. Not him._

_**To know I'm alive **_

He wrenched himself forward, his hearing returning in a consuming, thrumming rush. His ears echoed with sound, the steady hum of the ancient technology, Lorne's concerned voice, their explanations, demands, all words... all demanding his attention. But he ignored them all, unsteadily regaining his feet and shaking off Lorne's helping hands. _He had to get to Rodney. Rodney needed him._

_**Don't tell me if I'm dying, cause I don't wanna know.. **_

He nearly fell, clawing his way past Otesterian and leaning over the side of the chair for support, ready to see those bright blue eyes crack open once again. _Ready for him_. But there was nothing. Rodney's eyes remained closed; his eye lashes burnt off in the plume. He remembered calling his name, his throat searing and raw, nearly choking as he murmured the words again and again. He buckled slightly, but barely registered it as Lorne's arms came to support him from behind, nor did he feel Otesterian's when he grasped his arm, plucking at the sleeve ragged insistently. He didn't listen, _he couldn't_.

_**If I can't see the sun, maybe I should go.. **_

He reached for him. He wanted to touch..he needed to know. But he couldn't. His hand hovered over the mans still form, inches above a half torn sleeve, his seared hair, his broad chest, a charred theigh..But he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to touch him. He couldn't bring himself to touch this husk, this shell of the man he knew. _Couldn't. _He tried, reaching out again and again. But he just _couldn't. _And he hated himself for it.

_**Don't wake me cause I'm dreaming, of angels on the moon **_

He couldn't bring himself to touch his best friend, his team mate, his partner. He wanted to, more then anything in the world to simply hold him for the first time. _Just to hold him. _But he couldn't. He wanted to take him in his arms and hold him, to tell him everything and damn the consequences, and then maybe he wouldn't go, maybe then it would be enough that he wouldn't leave. _That he wouldn't leave him._

_**Where everyone you know, never leaves too soon... **_

It was nearly two hours later before they finally left Obasan. Silently and slowly navigating the geyser fields, their party following Ostesterian as he carefully paused every few meters, listening intently for something he didn't even care to think about. He had walked upright and pole-straight, keeping his eyes on Lorne's back as they hauled Rodney's stretcher across the fields and back to the gate. _He tried not to look down. He made himself not._

Soon after regaining consciousness, and seemingly ages after he had nearly collapsed over that Ancient chair, he had finally collected himself, sealing himself in a shroud of his own. One where he could form a sense of emotionlessness, and put forth that innocuous kind of strength that burned inside, it nearly killed him to maintain the facade of the strong and capable leader. _It was all a lie._ Because Rodney wasn't there. Mckay had gone and left him with this husk, this shell, something that was no longer Rodney.

Just before they had gone back through the gate, Lorne efficiently wrapped up their dealings with the Obasain people. But on the way to the gate, Ostesterian had come forward, walking along side him, his hand restless on his shoulder as he attempting to capture his attention, trying once again to tell him about the strange lights that had appeared in the sky when he had been unconscious, trying to tell him of the twisting blue and white spirals that had burst forth, like the ones that had lit up the evening sky in their culture's legends when the Ancients had visited.

The words washed over him in a jumble, he found no interest in the mans prattle, he didn't care if that same spirals had been seen in the village when they are retreated back to the station after the accident. Nor did he care of how for a few bright moments that the room had seemed to briefly alight in a shimmer muted sapphire blue, haloing them all in it's rays. He spoke of many things, the insistence and the importance of his words carving deep contours into his tanned features.

But he hadn't been listening. None of it really mattered anymore, not to him anyway. All that mattered now was getting Rodney home, like he always did, like he had once promised him he would, all those years ago. Rodney was coming home, but he wasn't really here, it wasn't really Rodney on that stretcher, he knew that. But he could do this, he could bring his best friend home, he could bring this one, the one he loved back home.

_**A/N #1 : In the flashback I used some lyrics from Thriving Ivory's song: "Angels on the Moon." Which I adore. I thought it really fit John's mood in that portion of the story. I recommend you guys to check it out on you tube or what not.**_

_**A/N #2 : The Zelenka and Lorne bit in this chapter is for Tbrown152 and Stargatesg1973! Sorry I couldn't fit it in any sooner; I got side tracked with my Kavanaugh and Simpson scene. I am Radek lover regardless so I like to slip him in wherever and however I can! (Snuggles Zelenka)**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer:**__** I don't not own Stargate Atlantis or any of it's characters. Do you THINK I would be here If I did?! So I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.**_

**Warnings:** This is a Mckay and Sheppard slash story (Eventually). Thus, eventually the rating will more then likely change from Teen to Mature. It's angst, and seems like a death fic at the moment. Believe me people, it is not, so just bare with me here. Blame the rabid plot bunnies. Spoilers are considered fair game up to the end of the Season Three, and while this story doesn't really have a set place in the storyline, just consider it occurring at a time when Elizabeth was still on Atlantis, and Carson either didn't die, or this is his clone. (I usually just repress the fact that he died anyway! Heh!)

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

**Those Were Not His Hands**

_**Chapter Five – Almost Human Again**_

**...Back in the Present**

He was almost surprised to find neither Carson, nor Elizabeth waiting for him in his rooms. Despite Major Lorne's message, he'd come in half expecting to find both of them staked out on his desk chairs, worried, there to comfort and to question. There to demand explanations, answers....to ask the why's and the how's that he hadn't even begun to fathom answers for. '_Thank god for small favours._' He sighed gratefully, leaning back against the door in relief as the privacy lock clicked on behind him.

He needed time to focus, to center himself. The thought in itself was nearly laughable. How in the hell was he supposed to center himself when it felt like part of him had been ripped out and left bleeding on that geyser field. In fact, he was quite sure that nothing in his life had ever hurt this much. It felt as if someone had torn open his chest and scooped out his innards, piercing his heart and twisting the knife through it in the process. He was aware of each and every breath he took because he felt like he was inhaling glass shards. Just as he was aware that each day he was going to face from now on was going to seem bleak and empty without him. _As Rodney might say, it was simply a scientific fact._

Yet, life went on and so did he. So, he _had_ to focus, and center himself. Because if he didn't have _this_, if he didn't have Atlantis, this position, and these people...well then he wouldn't know what to do with himself. _And it would really be all over._

Moving with forced purpose, he rummaged around in his desk drawer until he found his spare headset, fastening it around his ear; he listened to the general station chatter as he untied his boots. Kicking them off, he noted that like in the hallways and corridors, even the radio seemed too quiet for a regular Atlantis evening. _Not that this evening was anything close to regular..._But _s_till, it was eerie, it made the situation worse. _More real._

He paused in the act of taking off his shirt as Telya's soft voice came over their private channel. "John, if you receive this message please respond." He could almost picture her expression; her voice was strong again, composed. He almost hated her for it.

Sighing deeply, he shucked off the rest of his shirt, letting it fall atop his filthy combat boots before responding. "Sheppard here." He replied, gratified to find his voice strong and surprisingly steady to his own ears. _That was something at least._

"John, I am glad to hear your voice." She responded after a rather pregnant pause. "We have been worried about you." She continued, her voice still the same infuriatingly soft and gentle tone, the same she used to calm a frightened villager or comfort one of her people's own children. But he didn't want to hear it. He didn't want her pity or her grief, he had far too much of his own.

"Telya, I was just in the middle something. Can I get back to you..later?" He asked, his words coming out far more stern then he had intended, his tone nearly making him wince. But regardless, Telya took it all in stride, and he could nearly picture her patient expression.

"Of course John, I understand. Elizabeth wished me to tell you that she requests to speak to you.. tomorrow, the time is for you to decide. Telya out." She finished, the sound of another voice, their words too muffled to identify rising in question in the background just as the connection broke off.

He shook his head in self disgust; he must have really worried them to have both Major Lorne and Telya on the look out for him. Elizabeth had obviously enlisted them both, and god knows who else in order to get the message to him. Any other day he would have been worried about having pissed Elizabeth off. _But not today. Today he figured the universe owed him a break._

Soon after that thought he quickly rid himself of the rest of his clothes, practically falling into the shower, eager to be rid of the scent of burning, to wipe away the ash, dirt, and blood from his skin and his hair. _He wanted to feel human again. _He wanted it to be like it was before, to have those precious seconds of time return so he could finally do right by Rodney and right by himself. But most of all, he just wanted Mckay back. And somehow, in the grand scheme of things, he would have thought that the price of a single man, even one as great and as significant as Rodney wasn't really too much to ask..

He keyed the spray for as hot and as searing as he could stand; leaning against the cool metallic wall, his head drooped below his upraised hands as he watched his skin turn an irritated shade of red, the color somehow seeming all too appropriate. And as steam from the shower enveloped the room, shielding him from the rest of the world in a sheen of thick moisture, he didn't stop the tears.. _And for the first time in many years, he allowed them to come. _But as the first few renegade drops fell, mingling with the beads of water on his cheeks he promised himself that it was going to be the last time..

_**A/N: Sorry for the short chapter this time around. It was merely a transitional chapter that didn't seem to fit in with the last chapter, nor the chapter to come! **_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer:**_ _**I don't not own Stargate Atlantis or any of it's characters. Do you THINK I would be here If I did?! So I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.**_

**Authors Note:** Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. I want to thank all my reviews for following this story thus far. Expect three or four more chapters and then I am going to wrap it up, this story is almost at a close.

**A/N:** Since I adore the episode: "The Shrine", and Rodney and John's touching scene, in which John is wearing the Panda shirt. (Pauses for sqwee) Thus, I revamped the scene to include the Panda shirt, which is probably the best thing EVER.

**Those Were Not His Hands**

_**Chapter Six – What about Everything?**_

Soon after his shower he gradually realized that he didn't have the first clue as to what to do with himself. Having finally cleaned himself up, he found that he had nothing to do until his meeting with Elizabeth the next day. He wasn't used to having so much free time on his hands and the emptiness of his room was unnerving. He sat down on his bed, dressed his most ratty and comfortable sweats, pulling on his panda decaled t-shirt without really noticing what he had slipped off the hanger.

He had taken a half-step to his little fridge for a beer before he changed his mind. He and Rodney had always had beer together, and he rarely drank alone. Cracking open a cold one without Rodney just seemed wrong. He thought about a run, or even a trip to the gym, anything to keep his mind from wandering, but he hadn't been able to muster the energy or the willpower to move past his bathroom. He thought about going to the pier. But again, going there without Rodney seemed nearly sacrilegious. After all, Mckay had been the one that had first taken him out there, coming over with a six-pack of Canadian on his turn, and instead of coming in he had dragged him halfway across the city to the northern-most pier, and they had drank beer as the Atlantian suns had set all around them. It seemed that Rodney had left his mark not only all throughout Atlantis, but throughout his own life as well.

Finally he got up and stretched, pulling his arms high above his head as he eased his sore muscles, rolling up a pant leg he checked on the watertight dressings Carson had applied on his burn, tightening a piece of binding that had come loose before he wandered over to his deck, the high paneled doors swishing open automatically as he approached.

Leaning against the railing he closed his eyes into the strong sea breeze, letting the wind whip up his damp hair, ruffling and slipping through the thick strands to ghost his scalp with the evening chill. He tried to think of nothing, to just let his mind drift into empty space before he eventually realized that it was harder said then done, with his mind unhelpfully supplying more then its fair share of images for him to dwell on. And as he stood there, facing the night time breeze and looking up into the vast canopy of alien stars, he remembered the moments of the past few years, letting them playing out in his minds eye like film from a movie.

Sometime later, he was startled from his thoughts when the door to his quarters chimed, the abrupt noise sending goose bumps down his arms to join the raised hairs that the chill of the wind had raised. Relaxing slightly, he unclenched his fists from the rail, wondering with irritation who would even be awake at this hour, before he pulled himself away from the balcony with a sigh.

_Could he not just have this night? Have one night to pull himself together before the vultures descended?_ He unconsciously squared his shoulders, running a tired hand through his hair before he crossed the room to answer it.

When he keyed the door open, he ended up being surprised at who he saw. He had expected Teyla, Ronon, Lorne, even Elizabeth. But instead, it was Doctor Beckett, _Carson_, still dressed in his white lab coat, his eyes red and his face tired. His irritated words died on his lips, never making it to open air. It had been idiotic of him to forget, other then him and Zelenka, Carson had been the closest thing Rodney had had to a best friend. _Damn._

A few silent seconds ticked by, both at a loss for words. Finally, Carson looked up, meeting his eyes with a steady look, the quiet, steel-strong worth of the Scotsman glimmering through his bright blue eyes. "Colonel..Sheppard..." He began, his voice a gruff accented purr, the words coming out slightly rough, as though he had not spoken in some time.

"John, Carson. It's John." He replied, breaking what little barriers he had left around him by stepping forward and placing a hand on the physicians shoulder. The shorter man looked up, a glimpse of a smile in his eyes as he placed his own hand atop it briefly. "Aye lad, I know." He returned, stepping forward through the doorway as he made room for the man inside his quarters.

Once he had been sat and had a beer forced onto his empty hands, Carson took a long, impressive sip, unconsciously wiping his damp lips of foam with the sleeve of his dirty lab coat. "Thanks Col-...John. Aye, I needed that." He began with a sigh, knuckling his dark brown hair with his free hand, his face exhausted and drawn. And for a few moments, he couldn't help but wonder, as he sat opposite to the Scotsman, his own beer nearly half finished in his fist, just how Carson's coat had gotten so smudged with black and grey..

Sitting forward slightly, Carson reached into his pocket and fished out a small USB drive, turning the small device over and over in his large palm, his eyes flickering down to it, as if it held the answers to whatever questions he sought. Sighing, he took another fortifying sip and finally met his eyes, his gaze steady, but his lips trembling slightly, the only real visual evidence of his grief.

"Some time ago, Rodney came to entrust his personal affairs to me..if..if anything should happen to him." He began, sitting back slightly when he nodded for the man to continue. "At first I wasn't comfortable with it..being his friend before his physician. But he was, of course, rather insistent." He spoke fondly, scratching at his neck stubble thoughtlessly.

"He left a message for everyone. You, me, Elizabeth, Radek, Teyla, even Ronon. But he left a private one for you...And he asked that I make sure that I give it to you...as soon as possible, afterwards..." He trailed off, silently offering the disk drive over. And he took it, holding it in his palm as if it were a piece of precious glass, staring down at it with mixed feelings.

He was grateful when Carson filled the silence, as he didn't know if he could actually speak right then. "You might not believe it, but he didn't want a lot of fuss. A simple ceremony and a cremation..." The Scotsman continued, a smile curving the corners of his lips as he visibly remembered the man, turning his beer can in his hands thoughtfully. "I don't think he is going to get it though. Elizabeth told me that Stargate Command is planning a ceremony with full honours...for when we arrive; SG-1 has even been recalled. They wanted to be there...before he is...before he goes to Jeannie." The man relayed, filling in his silence with idly conversation before coming around to the point.

"But, he asked for something else, he wanted a portion of his ashes to be scattered in space, here in the Pegasus galaxy." He continued, clearing his throat roughly, a hand tiredly running through his hair.

"And you know, when he wrote these instructions for me, he called it home. He called here, Atlantis..he called it home." The man remarked with a fond shake of his head. "Aye..it has become that hasn't it?" He continued, nodding slightly when he inclined his head in agreement. Rodney had been right, it _had become home. "_But there was something else as well..John. He...He asked if you could do it..Ach...I mean, I know Lorne would-."

"No!...No. I'll do it. It's okay. I want to do it." He nearly shouted, cutting the man off before he could finish the sentence. No one else would do that for Rodney, especially after Rodney had asked it of him. But if the physician had noticed the raise in his voice he gave no sign, only nodding in understanding, taking another hearty sip of his beer.

They stayed in silence for some time; each man deeply immersed in his own private thoughts. Finally Carson leaned forward, looking up to catch his eyes as he raised his beer can. "To Rodney." He offered in toast, a smile coming back to his eyes as he sat up and returned the gesture. "To Rodney." He echoed, the aluminium of the beer cans popping metallically as they clinked together. _To Rodney._

"And..Sheppard, John. I know there is nothing I can say...I mean.." He began awkwardly a few minutes after the toast, bowing his head for a moment to collect himself, clearing his throat from grief as he steadfastly continued. "Rodney was one of my best friends. But what you two had was beyond that." He continued, his voice somehow more strong and steady then he had ever heard it, the conviction in it nearly sending him staggering from the physician as every word hit the painful, jagged mess where his heart had been.

"Lad, you know it...and I know it. But what you might not know..is that I think Rodney knew it to. I know he did.. And aye, now that I think on it, it has always been like that John. _Always_." The doctor finished his eyes kind, but not pitying as he rose, tipping his head back to catch the last few sips of beer before placing the empty can in the trash and moving towards him.

And somehow, as Carson placed a hand on his shoulder, quietly saying he would meet him at the memorial service the next evening, his face haggard, but now holding the ghost of a small smile as he silently showed himself to the door, that despite the hurt and the pain that Beckett's words had caused him, a ray of closure, gratitude, and relief flowed over him. Because he knew what Carson had meant, and _God..He had hoped Rodney had felt the same.._


	7. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer:**__**I don't not own Stargate Atlantis or any of it's characters. Do you THINK I would be here If I did?! So I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.**_

**Authors Note:** _Please read and review_. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. I want to thank all my reviews for following this story thus far. Expect two or three more chapters and then I am going to wrap it up, this story is almost at a close.

**Those Were Not His Hands**

_**Chapter Seven – 'It makes me wonder if Angels cry..'**_

In reality it hadn't taken long to boot up his laptop and stick in the UBS drive. But it had felt like an age had passed him by as he silently cursed the hour glass that turned mockingly, end over end on his screen, finally unable to contain himself any longer he swore as his trembling fingers dropped the UBS drive again and again before he finally forced it into the slot on the side.

A small video file addressed to him was the only document the device contained, quickly double clicking it, he brought it up to full screen, his heart thudding in his chest as Rodney's image blinked into existence. There was no date stamp, so he had no idea when the video had actually been made, but as evidenced from the messy clutter in the background it was obvious that it had been filmed in his quarters.

The camera wavered a bit as the scientist reached forward to adjust it. He was dressed in his science expedition tans and blues, the same ones he had been in when they had crossed the Stargate into Atlantis, years ago now. In true Rodney style, he had notes, he was nervous and uncomfortable, his broad shoulders hunched in slightly as he ran a distracted hand through his hair, making it stand up in the odd tuft light brown tuft all over his head. But as always, there was that spark of determination under it all; strength that came from the knowledge that he could accomplish nearly anything he set his mind too. In all, it was Rodney. Pure and simple, even shifting in his seat, his neck flushing uncomfortably and his bright blue eyes darting from the camera to a point somewhere across the room, and back again.. it was their Rodney.. _his Rodney._

Clearing his throat, he leaned over the table before looking up into the camera steadily. "This is a private message for Lieutenant-Colonel John Sheppard." He began, pausing for a moment to glance down at his notes, sighing deeply as he pushed them away in frustration, the slack of cue cards slumping over silently, nearly obscuring a coil of wire beside it on the desk.

"Sheppard...John. If you are watching this, well it is obvious that I am...I am de-..well no longer here at any rate." Mckay posed, stumbling slightly over the first few words, but gaining confidence as he continued, his bright blue eyes determined, looking briefly at something off-screen before focusing on the camera once more.

"And..I just wanted to say that whatever happened...whatever happened to cause Carson to give this video to you, it wasn't your fault. You of all people know that I am sometimes not the most observant of people when it actually comes to...well _actually_ reading people..But I think...I mean I hope that I got to know you well enough to know that regardless of how it happened, you are probably blaming yourself. But don't.... Please, don't." He asked, his eyes searching, piercing, looking directly at him.

It was almost as if Rodney was right there and actually looking at him from behind the screen. His breathing, which had turned ragged, hitched in grief again as he sat frozen...only able to watch the screen. "Whatever happened, it wasn't your fault John." He insisted firmly, his arms crossing in front of him again, adding solid to his determined demeanour.

A pause played out as Rodney suddenly looked up, his gaze focusing over the camera to where the door to his quarters would have roughly been as the unmistakable chime of his door echoed throughout the small room. A few unintelligible words fell from his lips he reached forward, his flaring blue eyes clearly annoyed at the interruption as he briefly fumbled with the camera before the screen went dark.

The clip continued a few long seconds later, relieving his growing fear that Rodney had stopped there. For some reason, seeing him so alive and so full of life wasn't as bad as he had feared it would be. In fact, it relieved him, with his body slowly unclenching the vice around his heart a few notches as the picture focused on Rodney's desk chair again. The angle was different this time, and it was clear that this video was being continued on a different day, or at least a number of hours later. The light this time was more artificial, the windows in the background displaying the Atlantian night sky instead of the early afternoon from before.

This time he was dressed in his BDU's, looking as if he had just returned from a mission, the sight of him made him lean on closer to the screen, inspecting the man closely, unable to stop himself from trying to determine which one. The man had obviously attempted to clean up a bit before switching on the camera, but a streak of red clay-like dirt still smudged the right side of his face, but his continued on either uncaring of it, or simply happily oblivious to it. _It was very Rodney._

"Look Sheppard." He began abruptly, his voice taking on that determined tone he often reserved for those times where they were all near death, in an impossible situation, with little hope for success just before he went pulled a miracle out of his ass and saved them all. "We both know that neither of us are good at this kind of stuff. At feelings and all that....But something's just need to be said. And for some reason I never got around to telling you this when I had the chance to before. You know...when it really counted. And I am sorry if that makes me a coward..." He said quietly, not quite able to meet the camera's gaze as he finished the thought.

_No Rodney..you were not a coward. You were never a coward. _And it was true, throughout the years Rodney had displayed incredible courage, against such fears, enemies, and situations that would have taken the very heart from him, _from anyone_. And despite his posturing and ever present vocalizations of his fear, Rodney has always come through for them, and for him.

"You were..well I wanted to thank you for everything. The team nights. Hell, even for just having me on the team..." He emphasized, a grin on his lips as he shook his head, clearly caught up in a fond memory. "But, I also for the other things, the beers, the pier, the movies, and you know, everything else. We _were_ good weren't we?" He remarked thoughtfully, twirling a cue card in his hands idly, before it flipped away, fluttering out into empty space of out of sight as he cleared his throat quietly.

_Yes Rodney, we were good. _He thought silently, unable to stop a smile from forming on his own lips. Rodney tended to have that affect on everyone.

"Don't..don't tell. Ah hell." He muttered twitching in his seat, looking as if he was itching to pace the room, having second thoughts about what he was trying to say. It was almost painful to watch. "You know I suck at all this emotional, mushy stuff...Hell, I may not want to admit it to myself, but I do. But regardless I wanted to say..that is I wanted to tell you." He began, trailing off again, crossing and uncrossing his arms restlessly over his chest, fidgeting like he always did when he was deeply uncomfortable or when something was bothering him.

"Christ, I am technically dead if you are watching this, and I _still_ can't say it..." He cursed, knuckling a large hand across his face in frustration. Finally he squared his shoulders, determination and that unique brand of willpower that only he could muster bubbling to the surface, shining out of his tired blue eyes.

"John, you were more then a friend to me okay?...You were...I cared about you...and sometimes I wondered if you..I mean I don't mean to just assume...but sometimes it felt like...Ah _damn_, I am sorry, this is probably not something you want to hear right now...I just, had to say it...And well, I guess I just did.." He affirmed awkwardly, reaching forward slightly as if to turn off the camera, before visibly pausing in the act to look back down into the camera again, his face close to the lens.

"And, Sheppard? Have a good life...No, before you laugh, I am serious. I think we both know that being alone is something, that in the end, no one really wants...not even me." He finished his voice rough again, the words thick and rushed. "Bye." He added, just before his BDU jacket enveloped the screen and the recording came to an end...


	8. Chapter 8

_**Disclaimer: I don't not own Stargate Atlantis or any of it's characters. Do you THINK I would be here if I did?! So I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.**_

**Authors Note:** _Please read and review_. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. I want to thank all my reviews for following this story thus far. Expect one or two more chapters and then I am going to wrap it up, this story is almost at a close.

**Those Were Not His Hands**

_**Chapter Eight – Twisting Blue and White Spirals in an Alien Sky**_

He played the video exactly eighteen more times, and by the final three he knew the words off by heart. He knew the moment of every pause and stutter, every hesitant movement or gesture. But yet despite this he still played the clip over and over again, watching and listening until he wasn't exactly sure why, but he did it regardless..The truth being that he didn't want to stop.

And while regret and guilt battled for dominance in his unsettled gullet, there was now a small glimmer, a warmth that heated his veins once again. Maybe it was relief? Relief to know that in some small way his feelings had been returned? Maybe it was love...He didn't know, but at the moment the feeling that was warming him, bringing life back into his cold fingers, and traveling upwards to spark in his arms and chest was enough. _It was enough for this moment, a moment that was irrevocably, and totally his own._

Later he knew there were be despair and regret, the cursing of missed time and the chance for something more...but not now. For now he remembered the man, a man with an ego to match the numerous degrees and PHD's he held, and a man that secretly had a heart to match them both. He remembered Rodney Mckay.

It was many hours later, coming on 0300 before he finally moved from his desk chair, taking his exhausted eyes off the screen he paused the video as Rodney was in mid-word, his expressive hands caught risen in mid-movement, the sight so familiar that he couldn't help up smile. There had been times in the past where he had sworn that the man could mime out an entire opera if given half the chance.

Wincing slightly as his back cracked, he stumbled awkwardly to his feet, briskly rubbing life back into his tingling legs, shaking and stretching the kinks out of his body that had formed from sitting still for too long.

He crossed to his bathroom and took care of his nightly absolutions, finally feeling for the first time since he had stepped back on Atlantis, that it was actually possible for him to sleep once again. Finishing scrubbing at his face he threw the face cloth back on the rack, slipping out of his shirt he left the sweats on as he slumped into bed, deliberately leaving his laptop open so that even from his bed, he could still see Rodney's slightly blurred figure. A moment caught in time, a _gift Rodney had given him._

Diving slowly into bed, he rustled around, twisting in his sheets, his brain and body tired, but his eyes still drifted open...refusing to completely close. So he watched the shadows, his eyes following the darkness as it slithered across the ceiling, making every nook, every corner turn sinister and dangerous. It had even claimed the desk chair, distorting and morphing the shape in the near light, with the only light in the room being that from his laptop, the brightness of Mckay's tan and blue science uniform lightening the surrounding space. But even it was unable to pierce the darkness that lurked in the room's farthest corners, the kind of darkness that unconsciously made one reach for the light switch, or call for a parent... _But then again..he had never really been afraid of the dark._

The utter darkness was banished when his mind recalled all those uncountable times he and Rodney had been stuck in the dark together..on Atlantis, on an mission.. The Canadian had always pressed in close in those moments, or maybe it was he that had made sure he had always been close to him? Now that he thought on it he couldn't tell..

Either way, each time his senses had been hyper-aware of the scientist at every turn, detecting the motion of his warm breath against his neck, recognizing the subtle scent of the man, his strong presence at his side, even the sound that his callous-roughened fingers had made on his template or against the trigger of his P-90. Sometimes, despite the pitch blackness he would have bet his last pay check that he could even call the mans facial expression!

_Besides...how could he fear the dark when Rodney had always been there? Always right beside him? Rodney might have feared the dark, or whatever might have lurked unseen within it, but he had never let that stop him. Never._

_**Sometime Later..**_

He knew he must have finally drifted off, because his mind eventually dreamed. He dreamt of twin spirals of sapphire blue and pristine white that exploded upwards, lighting up the overcast sky. But instead of the reddish-gray Obasan sky, the spirals stretched up into the Atlantian sky, the sheer power of the blast engulfing the world in a echoing roar of sound, making the city herself flicker and glint with an impressive ice-blue tinge as the spiralling lightening flashed, over-exposing the entire city in light.

He didn't understand it...Yet his brain scrambled for answers, sending him running from balcony to balcony in the dream, eyes frantically searching for something...anything...But what?!

His dreams were jagged, colliding with each other and pelting his unconscious mind with a piece-meal shrapnel of thoughts and images. But it wasn't till later that he dreamt of him...of Mckay.

His first dream of Rodney was of the husk. He watched as the shell reached out for him, leaning out of the half-unwrapped shroud. His dry, cracking mouth moved soundlessly, forming silent words...mime silent pleads as the burnt portion of his face glowed an angry ember-red, pulsing as his charred black fist clenched at empty air before it finally fell, slumping nerveless off the slide of the gurney, dieing uncomforted and so bleakly alone that it hurt to watch.

Then the dream changed, and he watched as Rodney died, watching as he threw himself at him as the fiery plume enveloped him time after time. _Again and again..as if someone was rewinding a tape to play the same scene over and over.._

He watched the scene as a observer to his own memories, audience to the memory of Rodney and himself from that moment as it replayed again and again in front of him, never changing. T_he outcome all ways the same._ _Always._

The dream morphed and changed again, as another Rodney, a dream-Rodney, appeared by his side, his arms crossed over his BDU tac-vest, a smirk on his lips and a smile in his eyes. "You always were self-condemning type weren't you Sheppard?" He commented idly, his face twisting in a sympathetically wince as he watched the moment where the other Rodney threw himself at him, sending them both airborne as the Canadian's pained scream echoed across the geyser field.

"You know there was nothing you could have done. Really. I made my choice. I chose that." The image remarked, his arm whipping out to point at the scene before them, his form rippling as the gaseous flumes wavered thickly through the air.

"Now that's not to say that this would be my ideal way to go..." He said with a smirk. "But hey, look at you, your still here. And that was the whole point." He pointed out, his face taking on a childishly pleased look, the kind that was usually reserved for winning one of their remote controlled car races, or discovering the secret to some mysterious piece of ancient technology.

He didn't know what to say to that...in fact he wasn't sure if he could even bring himself to speak...half-afraid that if he opened his mouth the dream would end, and he would be back in his room..alone. _Back to a reality where McKay was lying down in the morgue..alone and unmoving._

So they stayed in companionable silence for a time, watching as the scene in front of them played out a number of times..each man caught in their own thoughts. He took the moment to study the man out of the corner of his eye. He was _very _Rodney, the image of the man that had stepped out of the wormhole and onto Atlantis with him nearly 4 years ago now. In fact he was half-surprised not to see him decked out in orange fleece...this was _his_ dream after all!

Suddenly however, the scientist's face furrowed with worry, his mouth twisting as he whipped around to face him, his hand beginning to move erratically as his worry grew. "Wait...why _are_ you still here John? I am not really here...But you still are...Why are you still here? You _shouldn't_ be here. You left, everyone left...But your _still here._" The man questioned sharply, his eyes growing dark with confusion, his mouth opening to say more, only to have his words drowned out as the real Rodney's pained scream once again echoed all around them. He scrambled to move, to speak...to do _anything_, but he was only an observer to his own memories, trapped inside a moment he could not change. And as suddenly and as silently as the image had arrived, it flickered out and died a moment before the dream it self went dark, and he was submerged into a blessedly dreamless form of sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Disclaimer:**__** I don't not own Stargate Atlantis or any of it's characters. Do you THINK I would be here If I did?! So I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.**_

**Authors Note:** _Please read and review_. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. I want to thank all my reviews for following this story thus far. Expect one or two more chapters and then I am going to wrap it up, this story is almost at a close.

**Warnings:** This chapter and the next is when the rating is probably going up a bit. Thus, keep this in mind when reading. Enough of the angst and give me man smooches already!

**Those Were Not His Hands**

_**Chapter Nine – This isn't the final curtain call...Not for us. We will always have the encore.**_

Many years would pass, leaving him with more grey in his hair than he would ever admit to noticing, and yet he still remained unsure of what had actually woken him that night. Because a mere hour after he had finally closed his eyes, he had suddenly startled awake, wrenching himself bolt upright in his bed, hand automatically reaching for the side-arm on his side table, his heart racing, his breathing deep and unsteady.

But there was nothing there..no one, not even the slightest of sounds from outside his door. _Nothing_. Finally forcing himself to relax, he slumped back down into the covers, punching at his pillows in frustration, finding himself unable to settle back into sleep again. Getting comfortable he let his head fall back into the pillows, letting one leg hang out of the bed and into empty air until the chill of the evening forced him to pull it back in.

He was exhausted, yet restless, as if his body had given up, but his mind refused to shut off. It wasn't the dreams. No...he knew that. It was something else that kept him on edge. Something that was lurking on the edge of his consciousness, nameless and unidentifiable...but there nonetheless. _Something was off..different.._

Listless...and coursing with unfulfilled purpose he flopped around until he was on his back, lacing his hands behind his head and closing his eyes. And despite his relaxed demeanour, he concentrated, using every fibre of instinct and gut feeling he could muster to identify the one thing he _knew _he was missing. _There was something he hadn't detected...something that had slipped his notice..slipped through the cracks...something important...and he needed to find it. _And he couldn't help the feeling that if McKay had still been here, he would have found it by now..

**And then, _that_ was when he heard it. **

Startled, he bolted upright, not even registering as the movement sent pillows flying and his blankets tangling around his ankles. At first all he could think was that _this_ was it. He had finally lost it. It had been just one person lost too many...and his brain had obviously refused to take the abuse any longer.

But then, he heard it again, ...and then again...coming closer and closer until he was so focused on the sound that it reverberated in his eardrums, making him deaf to all else.

_**It couldn't be...**_

_No..._

_No...He HAD lost it..He was hallucinating..._

_It just wasn't possible..._

_It wasn't! ...It couldn't be....because that would mean...that would mean...Oh god..._


	10. Chapter 10

_**Disclaimer:**_ _**I don't not own Stargate Atlantis or any of it's characters. Do you THINK I would be here If I did?! So I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.**_

**Authors Note:** _Please read and review_. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism. I want to thank all my reviews for following this story thus far.

**Warning**: This chapter is going to be a bit more explicit then the others. So count yourselves as forewarned.

**Those Were Not His Hands**

_**Chapter Ten – He screams for more, more then just some blue-eyed Metaphor**_

He was up and stumbling across the room before he had even realized he had yarded himself free from the bed clothes, nearly tripping over the pile of gear he had dumped on the floor from after the mission. It felt as though he had stepped through some sort of spatial distortion as everything around him started to happen in slow motion. His feet seemed to sink into the floor with every step..slowing him down..even the door seemed to get farther and farther away as he pulled himself forward.

It was like a dream..something he could never fully hope to comprehend…so he slogged forward, ignoring the clutching vice that had cranked tighter within his chest then ever before as the dark walls of his room began to stain with the faint orange and red tinge of dawn...slowly lighting up the metallic-blue of the walls all around him, banishing the darkness from even the farthest corners and bringing warmth that flooded across the right side of his body.

**He knew that voice. **He knew the sound of those heavy foot falls. He knew them almost better then he knew the sound of his own voice...his own body. He didn't know how...he didn't know why. But he knew. _He knew!_

But before he could make it to the door it screeched open in front of him in a flash of sapphire-blue sparks, it was something akin to an explosion as Atlantis wrenched the door open, the movement causing a percussive wind to stream through the room, whipping through his hair and whispering along his skin.

And there he was, silhouetted in the shadow of the door frame, listing slightly to the side, the fingers of one hand digging into metal of the frame, heedless of the tumbling sparks and flashing lights..looking for all the world like some strange, avenging angel.

His blue eyes were blazing, his face desperate, mouth agape in panic and confusion, his other hand only just clutching at the trailing cream-colored morgue sheet wrapped hastily around him, the material clutched loosely at his breast. **It was Rodney. **_His Rodney. _Pale, pink, flushed and freckled. He was unblemished, _whole, _unburnt, unscarred... Definitely and entirely alive. _Very much alive._ _Rodney was alive! _

They stood there, both caught in the moment, each of them suddenly unsure. Both a step away from the edge, poised before the drop. This was the moment, the climax, the second after the big cliff-hanger. It was a time for action...not words. What would they do? What would he say? How would he react? So many questions and no answers. It was all up in the air, the cards had been thrown on the table, with all hands played, and now everyone was waiting for the final call.

The seconds ticked by, their heavy, surprise-laden breathing echoing in the silence. There wasn't a single sound from outside..even the ever present sound of the waves from the ocean below seemed somehow muted, it was as if even Atlantis herself was holding her breath...

And suddenly it seemed all too simple. There was only one thing he _could_ do. It was the one thing he _should_ have done years ago, and he was not going to let the chance slip through his fingers again.

It happened without another thought, it was after all, a time for action, not words. He met him at the doorway, crossing the room in a few quick steps and colliding with him in a tangle of limbs and needy, half-heard noises.

He would remember that moment for the rest of his life, _finally_...finally taking him in his arms, feeling him skin on skin. He would remember the smell, the familiar Rodney-like scent of him, he would remember the comfortable weight, the feel of his breath gusting along his neck..he would even remember those little noises the man had made when he found himself utterly speechless, unable to form words for one of the few times in his life.

He grabbed him, pulling him into his embrace with a force that nearly sent them both sprawling out into the hallway as he dug his face into the crook of the mans neck, simply breathing him in. His own breath hitching as Rodney's stunned arms returned the gesture a fraction of a second later, his grip so tight and strong that it dug into his ribs. _And he had never felt better._

"_John..John..John.." _Rodney whispered, his voice breaking as the chant continued, the words so muffled that they were nearly undistinguishable. "I know Rodney, I know." He replied, his mind totally empty of words, even in the best of times he had never really known the right thing to say. But this was one of those times that the metaphor was actually true. _Actions did speak louder then words._ So, with great emotion, he leaned down and kissed the man on the forehead, the only place he could reach from their position. It was a sloppy, messy kiss with no style or finesse, coming out as more desperate then anything, but it felt more right, and true then any other kiss he had ever given in his entire adult life.

A few moments later Rodney stumbled into him, pushing them both through the doorway and into the room, the door swishing shut behind them with barely a noise or spark. Rodney pulled away slightly, loosening the grip on his ribs to a bit less then a strangle hold, as he looked up at him his shoulders slightly hunched as the sheet rode decidedly low around his hips, his face open, naked of everything but pure relief, contentment, and hope.

"John?" He questioned, his eyes searching, the word coming out more like an answer then a question, as if he _was_ the answer. Years later and they would still argue about how Rodney had beaten him to the punch, he would always say that he had been seconds away from doing it himself, but now he was pretty sure the snarky Canadian would hold it up as a sign of superiority and child-like pride over him until judgement day. It was a conversation that held a lot of conations...especially when they were in the bedroom...However that was something that was to come, and in that sense an entirely different story.

Before he had a chance to react, or even pull his relief-clouded thoughts together Rodney did something that took his breath away, literally. It was just like Rodney, pushy, sweet, shy and desperate all at once as he lunged forward, grabbing his head in both his large hands and pulled him in for a kiss, the abrupt movement sending them both off balance and sprawling onto the floor. The kiss was raw, unchecked, and perfect. It was all teeth, lips, and tongue, the kind of kiss that only seems to happen in the movies, but not in real life.

Something was digging into his back on the floor, and the floor itself was freezing on his naked back, but he couldn't have cared less, he was so immersed in the kiss that Atlantis herself could have been under attack and he would have likely remained oblivious. Finally, when they broke apart, resting their foreheads together as they caught their breath, he looked up, his wide grin nearly matching Rodney's devastating smile as both of them grinned at each other like loons.

"We are both idiots." He commented with a shake of his head, peering up at the man, somehow narrowly avoiding banging heads as Rodney looked up abruptly.

"Hey! Speak for yourself! I mean, _hello_, genius here!" The scientist shot back indignantly, the sting of the words severely hampered as he snorted in mirth a few seconds later, the Canadian's chin so close to his naked chest that he felt the brush of his stubble against his skin as he shook with barely suppressed laughter.

He could listen to that sound all day, the sound of Rodney laughing, he could listen to the snarky tilt that came into his voice when he was being sarcastic, the sound of his voice when he was excited, nervous, mad, annoyed, and overjoyed. He could listen to it all, because he finally had it back. _He had Rodney back._ No longer was Atlantis bereft of one of her most enigmatic children. No longer were the halls empty of his voice, or his presence. _Rodney was home, back where he belonged, with them, with HIM._

However, that didn't mean that there wasn't _other..._ more _interesting _uses for Rodney's mouth, he pondered with a smile. So, when Rodney looked up again, one of the man's hands running tentatively up his naked chest, making him shiver in pleasure as those large palms carded through his dark chest hair, he surged upwards, capturing the man's mouth in his own and kissing him senseless, neither really noticing as the medical alarm in sick bay began to blare all throughout Atlantis.

And if Carson all but skidded into the room not fifteen minutes later, his face as pale as one of his own morgue sheets and found them still sprawled on the floor half-naked and firmly in each others arms, bursting out into laughter at the Scottish doctors expression, well then things had certainly come full circle!

_**Epilogue **_

It is not right to say this story of life has come to a close, because for them it was not the end, but a whole new beginning. For him it was the same new beginning he had had in Antarctica when he had sat down on that Ancient chair and the universe had opened in his mind...where a man in orange fleece had stood out from among the rest, a snarky tilt to his lips and a hint of a scowl on his face as he looked thoughtfully down upon him.

And the years would indeed pass for them, with the universe counting time in its own unique way, celebrating the eras with the explosion of old stars and the birth of new ones. The Earth still turned, people still loved, bickered, lost, and discovered. Atlantis changed, with old friends coming and going, and the chance of making new ones always on the horizon. But to them, Atlantis still remained that bright sapphire jewel it had always been since that very first day, when they had stepped out of the wormhole and onto the ancient city. _Together, and side by side, just as they would remain for however long the universe allowed._

_**A/N: Well this is it, the story is finally finished. I must say it went on for quite a bit longer then I had originally thought it would. However I do like the way it shaped out in the end. I just wanted to take a moment to thank everyone for reading and reviewing. I appreciated each and every one of them! You guys were awesome!**_


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